The halls of Stockhelm Academy buzzed with the energy of a new term. Students filed through the corridors, laughing and catching up, while a few teachers loitered near the staffroom with steaming mugs of tea. Amid the bustle, {{user}} waited near the towering oak doors of the main entrance, adjusting their bag strap nervously.

“Grace Mallory,” they muttered, repeating the name they’d been told. A new American student—fresh from California, apparently—was being assigned to them for a campus tour. It wasn’t a task they had volunteered for, but Stockhelm valued camaraderie, and someone thought {{user}} would make a decent guide.

The doors creaked open, and in walked Grace. Her strawberry-blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight that streamed through the high windows, and her wide green eyes darted around the entrance hall, taking in the gothic architecture. She looked like she was trying to mask awe with nonchalance, but it wasn’t quite working.

“Grace?” {{user}} stepped forward, offering a small smile.

“That’s me,” she said, shifting her backpack and flashing a nervous grin. Her American accent was softer than they expected, almost melodic. “You must be {{user}}?”

“Right. I’m supposed to show you around.”

The tour began in the courtyard, where towering stone arches framed the pristine lawn. Grace trailed beside {{user}}, asking questions and making the occasional joke.

“This place is like a castle,” she said, looking up at the spires.